


Possible or Reasonable

by dedougal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-05
Updated: 2011-04-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 15:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/178209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is trying to come up with new ways of saving Sam. Cas can't help there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible or Reasonable

There was a sheet of paper in front of Dean. A list of three names was on it. Two were scribbled out. Dean leaned back in his seat and ran his hands over his mouth.

Somewhere in the house, Sam was working out or researching or being the perfect hunter. Bobby had called it a night a few hours ago, leaving Dean alone in the flickering glare of the television. The room smelled of sweat and whiskey and rotting books, heated by the stuttering fire. Dean knew he should be sleeping or checking on Sam but instead he sat and looked at the list. Occasionally he picked up a pen and tapped it on the list before throwing it down. Dean heaved out a sigh.

“O, Castiel. I could sure use your advice around about now. If the war in-“ Dean cracked open one eye at the sound of wings and the sudden awareness that there was another person in the room. Cas was standing there, examining one of the books Bobby and Dean had scattered across the desk.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was the same gravelly rasp as ever. “That was more… respectful than your usual summoning.”

Dean pushed himself back from the table. His glass was empty. He grabbed to bottle from the sideboard and waved it at Castiel, who nodded and took the overfull glass without a shift in expression. Dean took a hearty swig before topping his own glass up again and sitting down. “Crowley’s death screwed us.”

Castiel kept his eyes on Dean. “It was a setback.”

“It was a fucking disaster.” Dean swallowed more of the whiskey before putting the glass down and picking up the list. “We’ve been researching. And keep coming back to the same conclusion.”

“And you want to know if there’s any alternative?” Castiel cast his eyes over the list. Then he took a long swallow of the drink in his hand and made a moue of disgust. Castiel fixed his eyes on Dean but did not say anything.

Dean huffed out another sound of frustration. “That’s a no, then.”

“You could leave Sam’s soul in the cage.” Castiel took another drink of whiskey. He’d drunk half the glass by now.

“That’s just… That’s not an option.” Dean stood up and started to pace. “Sam… isn’t Sam. He’s not my brother, for crying out loud. It’s like having an alien in the house.”

“An alien?” Castiel considered the idea for a moment. “That is not consistent with Star Wars. He should have tentacles, no?”

“It’s worse than you, Cas,” Dean continued, ignoring the comment for the time being. “Because he has all these memories. You had an excuse. You were an angel.”

“I still am an angel, Dean. I will always be an angel.” Castiel stood up. “There is a way you could ask.”

Dean was suddenly aware that he and Castiel were standing close. It had been a long time since he’d been so close to him and he could feel the warmth of his body in the tiny space between them. Dean swayed forward, only slightly affected by the alcohol he’d consumed all night. “Yeah. I could ask…”

“You die.” Castiel’s eyes met his. They were intensely blue. “I would not recommend this course of action again.”

Dean clenched his hand at his side. ”Right along with you there,” he replied. He could feel Castiel’s breath on his face. He was staring, he knew, and he should look away. But Castiel would not call him out on it, he was sure.

“You talked to me about personal space, Dean.” Castiel was saying, when Dean brought his exhausted, alcohol fuddled attention back to the conversation. He realised he was swaying closer to Cas, lips parted. Castiel caught him when he stumbled.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and rested his head on his shoulder. He wasn’t cuddling. He was just resting. Balancing. Using him for support. Cas seemed to hesitate before wrapping his own arms around Dean and holding him closer. Cas’ hands weren’t clutching tight in Dean’s clothes, like Dean’s fights in Castiel’s trench coat. Instead his hands were stroking up and down Dean’s back, smoothing under his over shirt, under his t-shirt, on the skin of his back. Cas’ hands were warm, softer than Dean had expected and broad.

“Cas…” Dean breathed out, wrapping his hands more tightly in the trench coat. “I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

Castiel’s hands stilled on his back, one resting over his shoulder blade and the other just above his waistband. Dean felt his heartbeat racing.

“I know, Dean.” Then Cas pulled back enough that they were face to face. Close. Closer than they’d ever been, regardless of all those conversations about too close and inappropriate distance. Cas’ lips brushed across his then, making Dean forget all that. His lips were soft, slightly rough, and warm like his hands. A more insistent push had Dean’s mouth opening, tip of his tongue dipping out and Castiel sucking Dean’s bottom lip into his mouth and dragging his teeth over it before letting it go.

Dean realised that he was swaying again. He doubted he’s be standing if it wasn’t for the fact his arms were even more tightly wound around Cas’ neck. “The pizza guy?”

“There was more. The girl’s boyfriend returned and the delivery man took care of him too.” Castiel’s expression was intent, focused like it always was. But there was something in his eyes, in the tilt of his head, that had never been there before. Dean was unaccountably nervous and licked his lips, watching Castiel’s gaze dropped to the tiny movement.

Cas moved then, spinning Dean until he was leaning against the edge of the desk. He wasn’t sure if his feet had touched the ground before Cas was back on him, lips teasing and twisting and kissing and panting. Dean gave as good as he got. He had a reputation to uphold. A reputation that was pretty dented when he realised he was rubbing against Cas’ thigh like some horny girl.

Dean wrenched his head away. “What? Seriously?” He couldn’t get words to spill out, to ask what the hell they were doing. He didn’t want Cas in this way. Cas didn’t respond in words. Instead he removed his hands from under Dean’s shirt and used them to shove the wrinkled flannel shirt Dean had grabbed because it was the least dirty almost twenty-four hours ago off his shoulders. Dean felt his hips give an involuntary thrust.

Cas’ lips met his, once, briefly, before the material of his t-shirt was gathered and pulled up slowly. Dean hesitated before nodding, once, sharply, and lifting his hands above his head. He felt oddly vulnerable, shirtless in front of the fully clothed Castiel, but he resisted the urge to wrap his arms across his body. Hunting had taken care of the softness, the spread that had started to develop during his year off. He wasn’t like Sam the Machine, not hard, defined muscles that seemed painted on. But he wasn’t ashamed of himself. Castiel certainly didn’t think there was anything wrong with him, bringing his hands back to touch Dean’s skin, long, thick, firm fingers brushing across his belly, catching nails over his nipples, tracing around his tattoo before one hand inevitably made its way to the lurid red scar on his shoulder that had never faded.

Castiel tightened his hand there. Dean tried to ask what Castiel thought of it, what it felt like. The way Cas’ hand fit perfectly over the mark, for all that Jimmy had not even been approached to be his vessel, made a surge of warmth run through Dean again. Castiel’s lips were insistent against his mouth again and Dean gave in, not caring that he was plastering his chest against Cas. He hesitated slightly when he felt Castiel’s hands at his belt, at his zipper, but sighed in relief when Cas tugged them down, setting his too hard cock free.

Then Castiel stepped back. His chest was heaving, his eyes were glazed and his attention seemed fixed to Dean’s groin. This made Dean feel oddly better, more like he was back on familiar territory. He slid one of his hands over his stomach, made a loose fist around his cock and pumped it a couple of times. Cas’ eyes widened.

“Take-“ The depth and roughness of his voice was startling in the tense silence. “Take them off,” Cas ordered. Dean kicked his jeans the rest of the way off then bent to strip his socks off his feet too. He dropped the pile to the side before standing back up and leaning against the edge of the desk. There should be something freaky about being naked, here, in Bobby’s living room. But the house was silent.

Castiel fumbled at his pants and drew out his equally interested dick. Then he looked at Dean. There was a hint of uncertainty, of doubt, in his face, like he couldn’t believe he was asking Dean to engage in such acts. But his interest was clear, lust warring with the doubt. At least, Dean thought it was lust. Hoped it was lust.

Too much thinking.

Dean took the two steps across the rough carpet to kiss Castiel again. Cas had his back to the sofa and, when Dean dropped gracelessly to his knees and placed a hot kiss at the head of his cock, Castiel grabbed for its support. Dean ran his hands up the outside of Cas’ thighs, feeling the heat of skin through the thin black material of his suit pants. He grasped Cas’ hips to hold him still and steady and sucked down more of Castiel’s dick. It had been a long while since he’d done this. Long before Lisa even. Before Lilith. But Dean found that his body, his mouth remembered exactly how to do this. A hand to hold the base, to keep the cock steady and cover what his mouth couldn’t reach yet. A twist of the tongue, flattened sometimes then using the sharp point across the slit. The way to relax the jaw, open wide and just take as much as possible.

Above him, Dean could hear Cas gasping, little broken words falling from his lips. He opened his eyes, not knowing when he’d shut them, and watched Castiel watching him. A hand smoothed over his forehead, over his hair, and Dean groaned when Cas tightened his hand at the back of his head, using the grip to move him a little faster before easing off and resting there, letting Dean take control once more.

Dean hummed before pushing forward, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard. Then he let almost all of Cas slide out and breathed in deeply. Dean inched forward slowly, taking more and more of Cas’ cock. He relaxed as much as he could, hoping long forgotten reflexes were enough as the head of the dick brushed the back of his throat. Dean slid the hand grasping Cas down, spreading to play with his balls, as his lips covered every inch of his cock. Dean pressed his nose into the harsh black hair at the root for a moment before drawing back. Cas let out a muffled shout and came, filling Dean’s mouth too suddenly for him to cope. The rest of his come jerked out over Dean’s lips, his cheeks, over his throat. Possibly even onto his ear. Dean stroked Cas through it, glad he had thrust a fist into his mouth to muffle the constant stream of groans and moans. They really didn’t need Sam or Bobby coming to investigate.

Dean shuffled back on his knees. His own cock was pulsing insistently now. He stumbled to his feet, aware of the wet heat of the come on his face and wondered if he could make it to the shower to wash and take care of himself without anyone noticing. Cas had other ideas.

He reached out and tugged Dean towards him, kissing his lips then dipping out his tongue to clean the come off his cheeks. He moved on, persistent, swallowing every stray drop down, kissing and panting open mouthed over the skin of Dean’s neck. Dean knew he was equally interested in Castiel’s careful attention, whining when Cas’ nose bumped the sensitive spot below his ear.

“The next step would be getting you ready, Dean,” Castiel said, voice too put together and calm for someone who’d just come all over his face. Then the meaning of the words sunk in.

Dean kissed Cas, hard, with force, to delay having to reply. It hadn’t been quite so long for that – Lisa hadn’t entirely lost her yoga skills and her slightly wilder side – but the idea of letting Cas… What was he thinking? All the times Lisa had knelt behind him with her vibrator and thrust it into him, he’d been thinking about a certain pair of blue eyes, a deep gravelly voice to call out his name, broad hands with long, pliable fingers that were now curling around his cock. “Yeah,” Dean stuttered out. “Lube?”

Castiel vanished, leaving Dean aware of how ridiculous he must look, legs wide, hips thrusting, mouth open. Ridiculous or slutty. Cas came back, something in his hand, and Dean didn’t really care. He looked around. The desk was littered with paper. The sofa squeaked alarmingly whenever anyone sat on it. The floor… Yeah, Dean didn’t want to think about the floor. Cas was on him before he’d made a decision and walking him backwards towards the desk. Castiel swept the papers and books to the floor and pressed Dean against the smooth wood.

Something rankled in Dean at that. He was naked, laid out on the wood, dragging his legs up around Cas’ hips. And Castiel was still wearing all of his clothes. All of them. Dean fought Castiel’s soft but sure grip and sat up. “Clothes. Off.” It was still hard to talk for some reason.

There was a moment when Castiel’s eyes met his and all Dean wanted to do was lie down again and spread his thighs. Then Castiel raised his hands and pushed his trench coat off his shoulders. He always looked smaller, the times Dean had seen him without it, and that hadn’t really changed. The suit jacket followed, landing at his feet. Castiel wasn’t making any movements other than stripping off his clothes but it was one of the sexiest strip teases that Dean had even been glad to be a part of. The efficient way that Cas revealed his narrow, pale chest had Dean licking his lips eager to get his hands on him. When Cas unbuttoned his pants and dropped them past his hips and shoved the underwear down, Dean was done waiting. He surged forward and pulled Cas towards him, kissing him urgently. The mash of their mouths was less careful, less practised than before.

Cas’ hand finally wrapped around his cock and Dean just about shot off the desk. Castiel pulled back and looked down at the way Dean was clutching the desk with one hand and his arm with the other. Then his hand was back on Dean’s shoulder, guiding him backwards and lifting one of Dean’s legs up to balance on his shoulder. The hand on his cock brushed past his balls, stroking the most sensitive of skin before running gentle finger tips around his hole. He withdrew the hand and then his fingers were back, slick and wet, and he was finally sliding one into Dean.

It felt as good as Dean had thought it might, fantasised about. Cas’ fingers stretched enough that there was a pleasant burn, a pressure that bordered the line between too much and definitely not enough. Dean bit back the moan he felt building in his chest, not wanting anyone to overhear. No more than the rhythmic squeak of the desk underneath him increased as Cas increased the twisting of his finger. No. Fingers. Cas was pushing another one, slick with lube in. Dean felt a trembling pass throughout his body as he shifted his leg on Cas’ shoulder, spreading himself wider, letting Cas open him up.

There were words starting to spill from his lips. “Yes,” played a large role, as did “More” and “There” and “Cas”. Castiel certainly wasn’t playing about. His fingers were moving more rapidly now, confidently. He brushed over Dean’s prostate, not deliberately as far as Dean could tell. Castiel kept his eyes down, watching his hand. The expression on his face was hard to read. There was a flush on his cheeks, beads of sweat curling the dark hair at his temples. His eyelashes looked long and dark against his cheeks. His mouth was open, panting. He looked debauched, Dean decided.

Then Cas looked at him, met his eyes. The blue had nearly gone. His eyes looked black. Dean jolted as Castiel deliberately pressed down on that sensitive spot inside him. It took Dean a minute to understand that Cas was asking him a question.

“Are you ready?” Castiel repeated.

Dean nodded. It was hard to find his voice. “Yes.” It didn’t sound like him. It was breathy and harsh. Cas pushed his fingers in again and Dean let out a noise that was more whine than anything else.

He was suddenly empty. Cas rubbed up against him, just so Dean could feel exactly how hard he was before taking his cock in his hand and pushing it at Dean’s entrance. It burned. Dean had expected that. What he didn’t expect was the way that his body opened for Cas, let him in as if he belonged there. Dean felt like he’d been hard for hours as Cas slowly, torturously withdrew before thrusting in again. Cas seemed to have some unerring instinct for hitting exactly the right place.

Castiel bent over him, trapping Dean’s cock against his stomach, to kiss him. It was all Dean needed. The kiss was not hard or forceful, not brutal. It was soft, a teasing brush of lips followed by a more intense opened mouth. It said something Dean didn’t really want to hear, not really. But deep in his chest he felt an answering chime.

Cas pulled back with what on anyone else would have been an enormous sloppy grin. On Cas it was more of a crinkling around the eyes, a slight up-turn of the corners of his lips. He hitched Dean’s other leg off the floor and Dean curled it around Castiel’s hips. Dean’s other leg was starting to complain about being pressed at such an awkward angle and he moved it down to wrap across Cas’ ass, pulling him closer. Castiel responded, thrusting harder, moving up a little to allow Dean to wrap his hand around his cock and pull at it. Cas supported Dean’s hips, holding them in a grip that might even result more of his handprints being imprinted on Dean’s body. The very thought was enough for Dean to finally feel the familiar pressure at the base of his spine, the way all his attention focused on the way Cas felt moving inside of him.

“Come on, Dean,” Castiel grunted out, rolling his hips again. Dean threw his head back, hitting it on the desk as his orgasm roared through him. Castiel’s own thrusts were unsteady and he gasped out Dean’s name as he came.

Cas bent over him, pressing close. Dean could feel the tremors of aftershocks passing through his body as he came close and kissed Dean in that soft way that said more than words ever would, should they ever be the type of people who would say words like that. It wasn’t like they were Sam- Dean cut that line of thought dead. Sam wasn’t Sam. Not anymore.

Cas was crushing him slightly, but Dean didn’t mind. He focused on returning his breathing to normal, on running his hands over Castiel’s sweat soaked skin to confirm that he was still there, still real. Not a dream or a daydream or a fantasy late in the night. Cas lifted his head and Dean was worried that he was going to try and say something but instead Cas pressed his lips to Dean’s shoulder, to his neck. It was oddly intimate, sweet and soft. Dean found his lips curving into a smile. It felt odd, unfamiliar, like something he hadn’t done in way too long.

It was then that Dean heard a soft cough from the doorway. Please don’t let it be Bobby Dean wished as he lifted his head from the desk. Sam stood there, face unreadable in the shadowy doorway.

“I need a book.” Sam’s voice was amused. Dean wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

“You couldn’t have waited until we were a little more put together? Is this another soul thing?” Dean found it hard to keep his voice calm. He also found it hard not to hiss when Cas shifted on top of him and let his cock slide out. Things Dean was not happy for his brother to be witnessing.

Sam’s voice continued to be amused. Or condescending. Dean didn’t want to investigate too thoroughly. “I waited until you were finished. Interrupting always makes me… frustrated. Unfulfilled.”

“Thanks for that,” Dean said. He could feel Cas shifting on top of him, ready to move. Dean clutched his shoulders, begging him silently with his eyes not to move. Cas settled down. “Give us a minute.”

Sam huffed out a sigh and stepped back through the door, closing it behind him.

Castiel stood up, hitching his pants back up over his hips. He stood in front of Dean, pants unbuttoned and Dean found his eyes trailing down the black hair leading down to the v. Cas shrugged on his shirt, tucking it in. Dean made no progress towards grabbing his own clothing. He was cold now, sticky as well. He wanted to shower. Castiel gathered his tie, his coat and jacket in his arms and stood.

“I am ready to leave, Dean.” Cas stepped closer, the confidence of earlier gone.

Dean shuffled upright, resolutely not thinking about stains he’d have to clean from the desk. He pulled Cas into a hug. “You know I’ve got to do it. I’ve got to. Sam isn’t…”

“I understand, Dean.” Castiel brought his hand up to cup Dean’s cheek and placed an almost chaste kiss on his lips. “You should take his ring. He will want it back.”

“Will it work?” Dean knew the words were soft, almost unsaid.

Castiel kissed him, once more. “I cannot see the future. I do not believe anyone can. Not anymore.”

Dean closed his eyes and, when he opened them again, he was alone.


End file.
